


Dear Lily

by RedHorse



Series: Dear Lily [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU (Lily lives), American Harry, Gen, Lily Evans Potter Lives, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, References to their OMC adopted child, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse
Summary: Harry stood beside his mother on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, staring up at Hogwarts Castle in trepidation. In almost eleven years of life, Harry had traveled extensively with his mother, so he had seen looming, ancient castles on three continents, but those were Muggle castles. And while Muggle castles were beautiful and inspired a healthy amount of awe, they didn’t defy gravity, or tower quite so high; they weren’t bordered by an emerald-green magical forest, and they weren’t set against the harsh majesty of a Scottish moor.Lily survived Voldemort's visit to Godric's Hollow, and James died protecting Harry instead. Lily has raised Harry away from wizarding Britain, and how he's almost eleven. Dumbledore has reached out to her to offer Harry a place at Hogwarts, but Lily isn't sure.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This story originates from a comment I heard a comedian make about how plots would always be simplified if someone inserted a single competent parent.
> 
> All the recognizable elements of this story are the property of J.K. Rowling and her heirs and assigns.

March 11, 1991

Dear Lily, 

I write with no expectation of a response, and a strong suspicion that you will tear apart this letter upon its arrival. I am leaning into that suspicion, which makes my quill brave. I am selfish enough to yearn to unburden my heart, and cowardly enough to hope you never read these words. You, better than anyone, know these things about me. In the years since we last saw one another, I cannot claim to have grown and changed, except in the way of any fixed mechanism through the passage of time – rusted, corroded, locked. 

Albus tells me that you and your son are well. My helplessness against the desire to write to you exhausted many an owl, and they always returned with a battered, unopened envelope, so I know you are quite far away. If this letter comes back to me, I will know that you are not in America, and if it does not, I will assume that you are. Imperfect logic, of course; but the international post is said to be quite reliable. Certainly, my undeliverable mail addressed to you and sent through the appropriate channels to Australia and East Asia was faithfully restored to me. 

Perhaps I should have thought of America sooner. Call me old-fashioned (the kindest thing I could hope for you to call me, Lily) but I associate the place with adventure. And it pleases me to think that you are still adventurous. I struggle to imagine you any other way. You might think, correctly, that I have lost the right to imagine you at all. But – selfish coward that I am – I can’t help myself. 

You must know that Albus has shared with me his desire that your son be educated at Hogwarts, and that I am a teacher here. If my presence is an obstacle to his attendance, then I will abandon my position before Albus can even ask. But if it is his safety that gives you pause, please trust that I would do anything in my power to protect your child, Lily. Limited though my power has proven to be. 

Your servant, 

Severus 

********

May 14, 1991 

My Dear Lily, 

I was delighted to receive your reply to my letter. I know you must feel that you gave a direct answer to my inquiry, but of course I must argue with you, anyway. Hogwarts has always been the safest place for magical children in all of wizarding Britain. You point out some deficiencies in the areas of adequate adult supervision, restriction of dangerous potions ingredients and vetting of staff that I feel confident we can address to your satisfaction. 

I was not being facetious when I expressed pleasure at receipt of your letter, Lily. I believe I have reached an age where my intellect is dimming, but I feel correct in the assumption that you would not have returned my letter if young Harry had not demonstrated magical ability. I suspect you would have been content to raise a Muggle child, in safety, far from the home that took so much from you those several years ago. The price of loving someone so extraordinary is high for anyone, but, I am told, is particularly exacting upon a parent. We have pruned the Whomping Willow, to the discontent of the Society of Magical Arborists for Rare Trees, and sealed no fewer than eleven secret passageways that had gone unnoticed by staff – but not, as you pointed out, by students – for two hundred years. I look forward to your additional guidance in improving the safety and security of our fine school. 

Fondest regards, 

Albus Dumbledore 

********

May 13 

Lil – 

Quick note to satisfy our promise to update you daily. Moony tells me that the first thing I must say, in bold print so that it cannot be overlooked, is that **HARRY IS FINE.**

Moony also says I must tell you (although I think it could wait until we’re face to face, and you can personally observe that, indeed, Harry IS fine) that Harry had a minor accident involving a broom. His shoulder was (briefly!) dislocated and he was a little banged up. 

Moony also says that you won’t care (and it might make things worse for me to add): 1) your spectacular child is a natural flyer, 2) we didn’t let him go more than twenty feet up, and 3) he was so happy about all of it that he was still grinning when he got up off the ground. Merlin, he’s like James. 

Remember all that we’ve been through, and how long you’ve loved me, and how much I love you, and that you would miss me and feel remorse if I were to die by your hand. 

And please don’t rush home from the ends of the Earth to berate us in person. A howler should suffice. 

\- S 

********

May the 13th, 1991 

Dear mom, 

Don’t blame them. They only let me fly because I actually resorted to tears to talk them into it. And I really wouldn’t have fallen if it weren’t for Zack, which Uncle Sirius didn’t say because Uncle Remus told him that blaming another kid would definitely not impress you. But I’m not trying to impress you, I’m just trying to give you all the facts. Zack was throwing things at me to see if I could catch them like a Quidditch player would have to and something happened with his magic and somehow a lot of things flew at me all at once and enough of them hit me that I was surprised and I fell. 

I miss you but I’m having a lot of fun with Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus. They have been telling me a lot of crazy stories about things they did at Hogwarts. And Uncle Sirius also said that kids who don’t live in Britain can even apply and go to Hogwarts sometimes, and that I could probably go because I am a legacy on your side and dad’s side, and also because you know the headmaster. And then in two more years me and Zack would be in school together. 

I am pretty sure Uncle Remus thinks you don’t want Uncle Sirius to tell me this stuff. And I know I would miss you and miss home if I had to go to school so far away. But I would also get to make a lot of friends who know about magic and maybe play Quidditch. And I would get to go to the school that you and dad went to which would be pretty cool, right? 

Remember when you told me that an educated person never dismisses an idea without entertaining it? That’s how I know you’ll at least think about it. 

Love, 

Harry 

********

June 1, 1991 

My dear Lily, 

I am pressed for time as I compose this letter, so I will respond to your concerns in the order your letter expressed them: 

I. The individual who has accepted the DADA position for the upcoming term is one Quirrell, whose personal acquaintance you may not have made, but I thoroughly trust his qualifications and his judgement. That being said, I will personally review the basic curriculum and ask senior staff members to periodically make unannounced visits in the classroom in order to ensure that the subject matter is being taught responsibly. 

II. Your security system prototype is fascinating, and a remarkable piece of charms work. While its dependence on a magical signature might make it impossible for Mr. Filch to utilize, your idea is quite wise. I believe I could persuade the staff to create a rotating schedule in order to monitor the charmed map that indicates the location of all castle inhabitants at any given time 

III. I agree that just because we have the magical means to heal broken bones does not mean we should not avoid broken bones, and appreciate you sharing the semi-permanent Cushioning Charm, also of your invention, which you advocate for the Quidditch pitch. 

IV. I cannot grant one student special permission to be released to parent custody every weekend, but I can grant an afternoon visit each weekend, in my office, so that you may assure yourself of Harry’s well-being in person. 

V. The Muggle parent participation model you describe as a “PTA” is certainly exotic, and I will take it under advisement. I will ask you to ruminate further on its merits, and leave you with the parting remark that it is not dissimilar to a program Narcissa Malfoy approached me with in preparation for her own son’s attendance at Hogwarts. Perhaps the two of you might collaborate on the details, if you believe it merits further investigation. Alternatively, perhaps we might let that subject go. 

Fondest regards, 

Albus Dumbledore


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where James died for Harry in Lily's stead and Lily survived (details unexplained). Lily raises Harry overseas. Everyone wants Harry at Hogwarts, but Lily isn't sure.

Harry stood beside his mother on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, staring up at Hogwarts Castle in trepidation. In almost eleven years of life, Harry had traveled extensively with his mother, so he had seen looming, ancient castles on three continents, but those were Muggle castles. And while Muggle castles were beautiful and inspired a healthy amount of awe, they didn’t defy gravity, or tower quite so high; they weren’t bordered by an emerald-green magical forest, and they weren’t set against the harsh majesty of a Scottish moor. In their travels, Harry and Lily had never come to the UK, and Scotland certainly had an aesthetic all its own.

“Ready, Harry?” Lily asked quietly, her hand soft and warm on his elbow. She put it there when she wanted him to know he could take her hand if he wanted to and hold it the way he always had when he was little. He wasn’t always free of the impulse now, but for the past few years he had needed it less and less. Given the last few conversations they had about Harry’s maturity and independence and how that figured into the possibility of attending Hogwarts, he was compelled to smile at her and start walking with his hands free at his sides. But a big part of him wanted to hold his mother’s hand. 

He blamed the childish desire on the story, which he had finally been told in its entirety three days before. He had heard a skeleton version of the tale going back as far as he could remember. A great war in a land across the ocean, an evil lord against the good witches and wizards brave enough to face him. His father, killed while fighting bravely. His mother, only alive out of luck. The whole land saved because the evil lord’s most despicable act backfired, his death caused by his own curse. 

It was a fairy tale then, though his mother delivered it with an uncharacteristic solemnity and sometimes her hands trembled at certain parts. It had gained detail over time, until Harry knew that his parents had been at the forefront of the fighting until Harry was born, when they went into hiding to keep him safe. And then Harry learned that the dark lord was called Voldemort, and he that Harry’s father James had died directly at his hand. 

But it wasn’t until that last night in their old house, bags packed for Scotland, that his mother told him the rest of it. It felt like too much to know, and made his father’s death feel sharper than it ever had. He wanted his mother’s comfort and at the same time his skin itched to think she had ever told him anything less than the entire story. He had been almost incoherent when he had suggested that to her, but she had understood somehow. 

“You may be right,” she had said, sounding more quiet and tired than he had ever heard her. “I’m not p-perfect, Harry.” The terrible idea that he could put a tremor in his mother’s voice banished any scorn he’d found for her, and Harry had clung to her. “Yes, you are,” he assured her, voice muffled against her shoulder, her long, soft hair sticking to his wet cheeks. “Yes you are.” Just the memory made Harry want to take her hand. His palm itched and he curled his fingers into a fist. And then he felt her warm palm on his shoulder blades, making a circle there, and he relaxed. He tried to smile up at her, but the sunlight caught his glasses and sparked a glare, and he couldn’t make out her face. She was just a figure with hair lit into bright flame by the sun, tall and slender and strong. Then the light changed again and she was smiling down at him, the familiar warmth in her eyes reassuring him as nothing else did. 

They reached the castle gates, and this close, Harry couldn’t even see the uppermost spires of the towers and turrets. They were lost in the clouds like something in a Muggle storybook. He shivered a little, with pure excitement now. His mother’s hand moved from his back to his shoulder, and as they passed onto the grounds Harry felt the tickle of strong wards. He sneezed, looking up at Lily, and she rubbed her nose, too, and winked at him. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, and then she looked up at the castle in much the same way Harry had done a few moments before. He remembered again that all of this was familiar to her. That she had spent seven years in this place, learning all about magic, since unlike Harry, his mother had no one at home to tell her anything about witches and wizards. She had met his Uncle Remus and his Uncle Sirius here. She had, of course, met his dad here. He tried to imagine his mother and his uncles as first-year students, just his age, and felt oddly dizzy. 

“Miss Evans! Ah, that is, Miss Potter!” a stout man with a long nose and glasses, carefully parted hair, and a width almost precisely equal to his height, emerged from the open doors at the castle’s entrance before them. He descended the steps with an uneven gait, and Harry watched his mother break out into a smile, stride forward, and bend slightly at the waist to offer him her hand. 

“Professor Flitwick,” she said, her whole manner almost as warm as when she was greeting Harry’s uncles after a long absence. “Please, call me Lily. How wonderful to see you. And you look so well.” 

The professor was a few inches shorter than Harry, which was unfamiliar in an adult, but Harry’s mother had reminded him that many things would be different in the wizarding world, and he should inoculate himself against surprise. He smiled shyly as his mother drew him forward and said, in the proud way she always did and which never failed to make him blush, “This is Harry.” 

Professor Flitwick looked no less delighted to be meeting Harry than to be reunited with Lily, which was something of a surprise to Harry. People categorically adored his mother, and generally the better and longer they knew her, the more they loved her. Harry was shy and reluctant and tended to make an awkward first impression, and he found himself blushing as he shook Professor Flitwick’s surprisingly large, strong hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you, professor,” he said. “Thank you for taking time out of your holiday to show us around.” 

“My pleasure, young man, my absolute pleasure.” He was blinking at Harry with a level of emotion that made Harry the slightest bit uneasy, as though he knew Harry much better than he did; in a way, really, that only Harry’s mother and his uncles had ever looked at him before. Then Professor Flitwick blinked, and took a half step back, and while no less warm and friendly, the uncomfortable intensity relaxed and so did Harry. 

They walked into the castle, Professor Flitwick gesturing to the massive, carved stone figures scaling the cavernous walls, and Harry swallowed around a sense of wonder. It was slightly cooler indoors than out, and Harry thought how cold it must be in this part of the world most of the year if the temperature in June was already borderline chilly. Sometimes, his mother accused him of having a thin skin, excused by his yankee upbringing, which was itself excused, impliedly, because it had been her idea to bring him up there in the first place. 

The first challenge of Hogwarts castle was accepting that spaces were not as big as they should be or oriented with one another as they should be, and then that the staircases moved, besides. Additional challenges included tuning out the steady hum of commentary from the prolific portraits that seemed to line every corridor and not shrieking at the appearance of the occasional poltergeist. While they walked around between various classrooms and the general locations of commons rooms and dorms were indicated, Harry’s mother periodically stopped and pressed against walls or lifted the arms of suits of armor, before nodding to herself in satisfaction. After one such interlude, Professor Flitwick smiled at her. 

“Professor Dumbledore enlisted some of us staff in addressing the secret passageways. This one happened to involve some intricate Charms work, so I had the pleasure of working with him to unravel it. I was told some of the passageways were rather ancient, but this particular puzzle had a very modern and distinct signature.” Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw his mother blush. Professor Flitwick smiled serenely and led them forward again, and they concluded their tour of the interior in the Great Hall. 

Harry observed the general grandeur, tempered by a more lived-in quality than some of the grand and ancient spaces he’d seen in Barcelona and Paris. There were four vast, long, bare tables, a smaller table at the front of the room, and the walls were adorned with banners bearing the colors and sigils of the four Houses. His mother had already described them to him in general terms, and he had read books that mentioned Hogwarts Houses in various contexts over the years. His uncles had been forbidden from discussing House politics, which Lily found childish, but Sirius hadn’t been able to help mentioning the general superiority of Gryffindor on various occasions, and it was obvious that he, Remus and James had all been in the same House. 

Lily had never revealed her own House, and had become increasingly close-mouthed as the idea of Harry attending Hogwarts became a real possibility. She had patiently explained her logic in detail the day before. 

“You can’t control which House you’re sorted into, Harry. There is no way to know in advance where you’ll be placed, and if we do decide you should enroll at Hogwarts, I don’t want you to get your heart set on a certain house just because it’s where your family members were sorted.” She mussed his hair, sitting cross-legged across from him on the floor in their room at the inn in Hogsmeade, empty chocolate frog wrappers and a few disappointingly common cards spread between them. “Though if you are sorted Gryffindor, it’s no excuse to behave like Uncle Sirius.” 

Lying in bed later that night, too excited about the tour in the morning to sleep, Harry realized the implications of his mother’s explanation. She had acted like Hogwarts was out of the question when the topic had first come up. He had overheard a prolonged argument between her and Sirius on the subject, enhanced with language that he had never heard his mother use. Now he knew the possibility had always been in the back of her mind, or she would have thought it was harmless to tell a five-year-old Harry her house when he had first asked. 

“Do you have any questions about the houses, Harry?” Professor Flitwick asked, startling Harry, who knew that some wizards could read minds but also knew it was considered quite rude to do so without invitation or at least a warning. Taking in the professor’s patient smile, though, Harry realized that he had been studying the banners closely, and the professor had merely inferred his thoughts. 

“Well,” Harry began, casting wildly for some sly method of getting the professor to confess Lily’s house, but his mother caught his eye and shook her head, arching one brow in a way Harry had never been able to imitate. 

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, firmly. “I’ve told Professor Flitwick I prefer not to tell you.” 

Harry flushed, and glanced up at Professor Flitwick, who was smiling pleasantly. “Professor, did you attend Hogwarts?” 

“Yes, I did, Harry. My house was Ravenclaw, and I am fortunate enough to be the Head of Ravenclaw House. All of the Hogwarts houses are fine places to be sorted, of course, but I would be proud to have you in Ravenclaw.” 

Harry’s nontraditional primary education meant that he had been cast from time to time with other students who didn’t fit the standard educational mold for various reasons. Some of them for their singular intelligence, including a close home-schooled friend, Titus, who was taking college courses. 

“I’m not that smart,” Harry murmured. He saw his mother roll her eyes. 

“Hush,” she scolded, fondly, and shared a look with Professor Flitwick. “Professor Flitwick is right; you would be a proud addition to Ravenclaw. Or any other house.” When Harry relaxed, she briefly set her hand on his riotous hair, and it was gone before he could be embarrassed in front of the professor. 

“Now, Harry, I am tasked with showing your mother to the Headmaster’s office, while Hagrid shows you the grounds. Lily, you remember Hagrid, the groundskeeper?” 

Apparently, Lily did; she had a bemused expression, but didn’t protest when Flitwick shepherded Harry outside and into the custody of a towering, bearded figure that caused Harry to look helplessly between the professor and the groundskeeper, wondering if it was atypical that citizens of the wizarding world be medium-sized. 

“Very fine ter see yeh, Harry,” Hagrid boomed, in a voice that was quite proportionate to his size, and proceeded to show Harry the wonders of the Quidditch Pitch, the very outer perimeter of the Forbidden Forest, and finally the greenhouses. Harry had thought his excitement would peak at the Pitch, but it turned out to look mostly like a photograph of a Quidditch Pitch would, and without even a game going, so all in all rather dull. He was pleasantly surprised by the mystery of the forest, even though they didn’t see anything dark or dangerous, it was easy to imagine the centaurs and unicorns, giant spiders and thestrals that Hagrid promised lived within. 

Most surprising of all was the allure of the greenhouses. Harry had more than a passing interest in herbology, as it was a hobby Lily had shared with him as long as he could remember. They kept an herb and wizard’s garden under heavy wards and concealment charms at home for potions ingredients, with the odd species just for amusement or aesthetic value. That being said, he had never seen quite the variety of Professor Sprout’s domain, and he found the atmosphere in the greenhouse to be warm and wet enough to remind him of an ordinary summer at home. 

“Tha’ there’s my place, Harry, should yeh ever make time fer a visit,” Hagrid said shyly, pointing out a little wood cabin tucked alongside some empty creature corrals, near to the shadow of the forest. Harry promised he would, and thanked Hagrid for making him welcome, then paused. 

“I don’t know for certain that I’ll be coming to Hogwarts, though,” he admitted. Hagrid seemed startled. 

“Bu’, the Headmaster says yer qui’ welcome; already on the rolls, tha’ is, an’ a letter forthcoming.” 

“My mother hasn’t said yes,” Harry said, but that wasn’t really true. He knew his mother wouldn’t have discussed the topic of Hogwarts with him at all if she wasn’t fairly sure he could go. Barring the discovery of some severe latent danger in the corridors (he was well aware that was the purpose of their tour, rather than giving him the opportunity to familiarize himself with a potential new home) she would permit him to go. And up until that moment, Harry was sure that he _would_ go, or at least, that he would _want_ to go to Hogwarts. 

But the reality was striking him, even in just this short time in Hagrid’s company and not his mother’s. He had been away from her for weeks at a time, of course. Sometimes her jobs took as long as a month, which he generally spent with Remus and Sirius and Zack, who all came to stay at Harry’s house. And he had gone to conferences and camps with other home-educated kids. He had even slept in dormitories and taken meals at long tables not so very different in essence from what life would be like at Hogwarts. 

Yet, the wizarding world was totally unfamiliar. And a week away from his room and his bed was much different than a whole term – and even the supervision of kind strangers like Hagrid and Professor Flitwick was not the same as staying with his uncles or going to a camp with his friends. He wished he was braver. He wished he was a little more like Sirius, in all the ways he knew from stories that Sirius was like his dad. When Sirius had brought up Hogwarts, he had said again and again what an amazing chance it would be to make new friends, friends who were wizards like Harry. But the idea of all of those strangers was not only the most exciting part of it, when Harry really thought it over; it was also the scariest part. 

“I don’t know if I want to move away from home, either, I guess,” Harry said, quietly, and was startled at how easy the confession had come. Hagrid did have a friendly ease, but still, they had only just met. Normally a confession like that would be one that Harry would only make to his mother – but then, he’d kept it bottled up because he was worried if he showed any sign of hesitation on the topic of Hogwarts, she would change her mind about letting him go. 

“Oh, well, Harry, tha’s very normal, you see. I watch the firs’ years get off the boats e’ery year, don’ I, an’ there’s no’ a one of ‘em that’s no’ scared. An’ after tha’, well, there’s homesickness, too tha’ comes and goes, ’specially the firs’ months. But then after the hols, o’course every las’ one of ‘em is anxious ter see their friends, an’ pick up their classes. Yeh’ll see, Harry.” 

Warmed by the reassurance, Harry walked with Hagrid back to the castle, and found his mother waiting for him, alone, on a little stone bench by a discreet side entrance that appeared designed to empty students directly in the direction of the greenhouses. She had a wistful expression, and Harry was struck as he always was by a moment of pride at how pretty and strong she looked, before her face broke out in the smile she always had just for him. 

“Have fun, Harry?” she murmured, and he could tell by the way she put her hands in her pockets that she wanted to reach out and touch him, but thought he might not like it. So he nodded and leaned against her shoulder, briefly, pleased when her smile grew a little at his touch. “Good. We’ll be late to our lunch if we don’t leave in a few minutes. Is there anything else you want to see before we go?” 

Harry shrugged, helplessly. How should he know? Then he caught sight of a man standing in the doorway back into the castle, and startled. Feeling him tense, Lily turned to look, and Harry saw her go still and hard to such a degree he hardly recognized her. 

Harry studied the tall man, who was wearing long black robes, and had long hair just as deeply black, pale complexion and black eyebrows, so that he was an almost colorless figure. At least from this distance and in the shadow of the doorway, even his eyes seemed black, and they were without a doubt fixed upon Lily. His features were long, sharp, and unpleasant, but his eyes shone and his lips parted as he took in Harry’s mother, and filled with emotion in this way, Harry thought he was pleasant looking despite his starkness. 

Harry, perplexed, looked up at his mother. Clearly she had seen this man before, and the thought that she might be looking at him the way he looked at her filled Harry with a strange emotion he couldn’t name. But Lily was as unmoved as he had ever seen her, her jaw taut and her green eyes, which Harry always thought of as soft and warm, bright and sharp instead. 

“Ah, Professor Snape,” Hagrid called, uneasily, and his rough voice seemed to break the spell. Lily looked down, but not at Harry, and when Harry looked back to the doorway, the dark-haired man standing there jerked as though stung, scowled at Hagrid, and withdrew into the castle so fast it was as though he had disapparated. In fact, Harry was so sure for a moment he had, he braced himself for a cracking sound that didn’t come. 

“An old friend of yers, Miss Lily, weren’t he?” Hagrid asked, sounding uncomfortable. Harry’s mother looked up, and he watched the slow thaw of her hard gaze, until her whole face softened and she managed a small smile. 

“That’s right,” she said, sounding stiff. The smile fell from her face, as though she didn’t have the energy to keep it there. “Once,” she said, her voice gone cold again, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this little work. If you enjoy it, and wouldn't hate reading more, or if you want to beta or Brit pick (? is that how we talk about those things?) future installments, I would love to know about it in the comments.


	3. Three

June 27, 1991

Dear Lily, 

Thank you for the delight of your company, the acquaintanceship of sweet Harry, and the fine red wine. I am impressed you could recall after so many years my fondness for Muggle vintages, and my distress at the challenges in procuring them for myself. I find myself unable to blend at all in the Muggle world, and the merchants who cater to this sort of thing are difficult to come by to say the least. 

Neville cannot stop talking about Harry, and it is my sincerest hope that Harry enrolls in Hogwarts for the coming term. Not only for all the reasons I told you over luncheon and could reiterate here, but also for my own selfish one: Neville has previously expressed only fears and reservations about going to school, and should I promise him he will see Harry there, he would have a reason to look forward to it as well. 

I have excused Neville from thanking you directly for the gift you brought for him, so that he can devote all of his parchment to writing to Harry, a task he has been poring over since you left, and it’s after dinner time now. _A Passion for Potions_ is a true classic, but it had slipped my mind when I was looking for reading appropriate for a beginner. Neville has some anxiety about hazardous substances and activities, as you are probably aware even after meeting him so briefly, considering his reaction to Harry’s story about falling from a broom. I have confidence that he is more like his father and mother than we yet know; perhaps I have recounted too many tales of their bravery to him. He may be too young to be saddled with the expectations of their legacy. 

Of course no one could know this sad fact better than the mother of the Boy Who Lived. You asked whether I thought you should see Frank and Alice, and I wasn’t sure how to answer – or couldn’t say aloud, more likely. I assure you, there is no need. They are truly gone, and neither of them would want you to replace your last memories of them with the shadows you would find at St. Mungo’s. 

Please keep in touch and let me know what you decide, dear girl. 

Augusta Longbottom 

***********

July 3, 1991 

Dear Lily, 

We were so very pleased to receive your letter. Over the years we have thought fondly of your family, and like so many others, feel tremendous gratitude for your sacrifices. We hope that America has been a safe and happy refuge for dear Harry, and indeed Sirius tells Arthur that is the case. 

You are correct that we have a son Harry’s age, Ronald, who will start Hogwarts this term. We also have twins Fred and George and their older brother Percy who already attend. Next year we expect our youngest, Ginny, will get her letter, too, as she has demonstrated abilities on occasion. Arthur insists we abide the statutes, given his position at the Ministry, so we haven’t taught the children or allowed wands at home. Those laws have been better enforced since your husband’s time, and I think even the old families are, like Augusta Longbottom mentioned to you, avoiding instructing at home and leaving the early education for Hogwarts. The curriculum there seems to have adjusted somewhat as a result. 

If you opt to enroll Harry, we would be delighted to meet you in Diagon Alley when the children go for supplies. I imagine you will have to come to London at least for robes and to take advantage of Ollivander’s contract with Hogwarts. Ron, like all children in wizarding Britain, has been raised on the happier stories of the war, including You-Know-Who’s defeat and Harry’s role. I know he would be struck dumb by the chance to be his friend, and I can promise he is a good, sweet child very like his father, and Harry would be lucky to have him. 

Best wishes from all our family, 

Molly Weasley 

***********

July 11, 1991 

My Dear Lily, 

I cannot help but include this note with the supplies list. I will not thank you, since I know your choice has nothing to do with me. But I feel I must say, at least, that I know what it means for you to entrust us with Harry’s safety. I shall mind it well. 

Fondest regards, 

Albus Dumbledore 

***********

30 July, 1991 

Dear Lily, 

I hope this package reaches you in time for Harry’s birthday, but over the years Sirius’s tendency to procrastinate has worn off on me, I fear. But I know Harry won’t think for a moment we’ve forgotten him, and maybe there’s a certain pleasure in receiving late gifts, too – extending the sense of celebration, maybe? I’m reaching, I know. I know. 

I’m pleased you decided against taking a flat in Hogsmeade and are opting for London instead. No one with your talent for apparition should worry about being a mere half-continent from her child’s school. I can’t help but echo Sirius’s concerns about your intent to take up residence at No. 12, however. Yes, it’s empty, and yes, the unhappy memories there aren’t your own, but in my experience the entire place has a tendency to express distaste for one of your politics and, forgive me, lineage. I know wizarding homes have become something of a pet specialty of yours, however, so I won’t argue. 

Zack can’t wait to have you and Harry closer. I warn you, he already has plans for a weekly play date – with you, Lily, not Harry; you never should have confessed that you have actually extracted dark artefacts from places as exotic as the Egyptian pyramids and the Antarctic tundra – and I can’t deny that Sirius and I both helplessly spoil him. So he won’t be denied. 

That house might be able to scare off even him, though. Give some thought to a neutral meeting place. 

It will be good to have you home. 

Love, 

Remus 

***********

September the 1st, 1991 

Dear mom, 

I promised you I’d write before I went to bed, and I am. It has been a long day, to say the least, and I can hardly believe I will have my first class tomorrow. I met a girl on the train who had already memorized all of our school books, so I should say that I’m sorry that I complained when you suggested I read ahead. Thankfully I did read the first few chapters of each one, even though I hate to admit it to you, since that means I already thought you might be kinda right even before there was any evidence. 

The castle seems even bigger with all the students here, but happier and warmer and more real, too, if that even makes any sense. I already put my blanket from home on the bed, and you were right. It does make me miss my room a little less. 

I saw Neville on the train, too, and we kind of had an adventure finding his toad. And Ron Weasley and his brothers, too – which you already know, I guess, since we ran into them on the platform before you left. I know I said it was embarrassing that Remus and Sirius and Zack came, too, because it seemed like too many people to see off just one kid, but actually it was nice. Will you tell them that for me? 

I can’t say I haven’t gotten a lot of weird looks and heard whispers, but the kids here aren’t as bad as the adults we saw in Diagonal Alley, really. I know you were worried about that, but I’m starting to think that you’re the one everyone was stopping to see, really, or at least the main reason. I have gotten more comments on my American accent than anything else, to be perfectly honest. 

I know you thought I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from telling you which house I’m in, and I wasn’t sure, either, but I guess I’m as stubborn as you. I’ll tell you when you tell me. I will ask Hedwig to stick around after she delivers this letter – after all, how long can it take you to jot down just one word? 

Love, 

Harry 


End file.
